


Four Reasons

by thenewlondoner (muleumpyo)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: HP Next Gen Fest 2020, Harry Potter Next Generation, Hufflepuff James Sirius Potter, M/M, Major Character Injury, POV James Sirius Potter, Professor Harry Potter, Professor James Sirius Potter, Professor Teddy Lupin, Quidditch, Quidditch Player James Sirius Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:41:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27224419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muleumpyo/pseuds/thenewlondoner
Summary: There were a couple of things James should've considered more seriously before coming back to work at Hogwarts as the new Flying Instructor. His dad being the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor there, for one. The fact that he hadn't really flown since a career-ending injury had put an abrupt end to his Quidditch fame two years ago, for another.His ridiculous, teenage crush on Teddy Lupin, his friend and Hogwarts' newest Charms professor, perhaps most of all.
Relationships: Teddy Lupin/James Sirius Potter
Comments: 10
Kudos: 120
Collections: Next Gen Fest 2020





	Four Reasons

It became quite clear to James Potter, almost immediately after accepting the position of Flying Instructor, that coming back to work at Hogwarts would not be quite so easy as he had imagined, for a number of reasons.

First, and foremost: his dad was still the professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts there. James couldn't decide if it would be more or less embarrassing to be his dad's student, or his colleague. (He hoped it was being a student, because secondhand embarrassment was the last thing he needed at the moment).

Second: he had not been the most...well, _rule-abiding_ child of the extended Weasley clan, even when one took into account his parents, who had smuggled dragons and stolen things from teachers and and started revolutions, and his whole host of aunts and uncles, some of whom were still whispered about by students, with legends being shared of how they had transformed a former Headmistress into a centaur (or something like that) and turned the whole Entrance Hall into a swamp. 

While he wasn't planning on reviving any of his old pranks, he knew some of the other teachers had long memories—Professor Bilbous, the Potions master, for example, was hardly likely to welcome him with open arms as a fellow teacher after what James had done to his classroom in seventh year.

Third: he hadn't considered the very real possibility of eleven-year-olds asking the questions he had avoided answering for the last two years when they had been posed by _Quidditch Quarterly_ , _Le Monde Magique_ and _The Daily Prophet_ —all on his first day, in his first ever lesson, no less.

Note to self: never pose an open-ended question, such as "Any questions about anything?" to a group of twenty-five first years. They _would_ take the opportunity to ask about anything.

"Master Potter," a red-headed girl had asked, waving her hand at him. When he selected her, she had lowered her hand slowly and looked up at him with big brown eyes. He was fairly certain that when they had gone ‘round saying their names that she had said hers was Felicia, but he couldn't be sure. "Why aren't you playing for the Magpies anymore? My mum took me to a game in July and I didn’t see you."

James had fought down a grimace. Of course she hadn't. It had been more than two years since he had flown in a match. "I'm... not playing professional Quidditch anymore, actually. I'm your Flying Instructor now."

"Yeah, I _know_ ," she replied in a tone that implied he hadn't been listening. "But why?"

James shoved his hands into the pockets of his robes, trying to affect an expression of complete ease. His words still came out stilted. "I got injured. Couldn't play anymore."

Another small boy, possibly named Guillaume, piped up, "My da said you fell fifty metres—is that true?"

The students around him looked at James with wide eyes. 

The sudden feeling of nausea that came over him whenever the fall was mentioned swooped in yet again. James swallowed. Although he was sure to embarrass himself in one way or another in front of his students at some point, he certainly wasn't going to be sick in front of them on his first day. He could do this. 

"No, just, er, thirty. Thirty metres."

Just _thirty metres?_ James thought. _The Healers had said you were lucky you hadn't died on impact._

But he wasn't sure how he could possibly explain that to an eleven-year-old without sounding incredibly morbid. He'd have to ask his dad about that. If anyone had loads of experience answering students' questions about near-death escapes, it was Harry Potter, "The Boy Who Lived (And Lived) And Then Got Asked All About It."

"How high is that?" Guillaume asked.

"Er, well. See the top of the Great Hall, where it comes to a point like that?" James gestured at the stony ridge of the castle roof, where it swooped down over the huge windows of the Great Hall as they glimmered in the morning sun. It was hard to remember exactly how high the fall had been, but it looked big enough. "Imagine falling from there to the ground. That's about thirty metres."

Felicia took a sharp breath in, as did a couple of the other students." _Ohmigosh_. Did you get really badly hurt?"

"Yep. Very badly." James wasn't sure where the rest of the questioning was going, but it didn't bode well. "And I’ll answer your questions about it, but they're going to have to wait. We can talk about it later." He clapped his hands together, noticing how students who were still staring at the castle parapet with wide eyes suddenly turned back around. "We have a flying lesson to do, and you lot have brooms to command. Everyone have a broom?"

"Yes, Master Potter," the students chorused. The questions seemed on pause for now.

"Alright. Everyone step up to your broom and put out your hand..."

The rest of the classes had started in a similar way, unfortunately. Suffice to say, his first day didn't exactly go as planned. The rest of the first week, though, did improve. It was easier to answer questions like that when he knew that they were coming. Easier to evade. 

In the end, it did turn out that there was a fourth thing that was awkward about coming back to work at Hogwarts. One that should have probably been further up the list. 

And that fourth thing was: Teddy Lupin also worked there, as the Charms professor.

* * *

Teddy and James had been close friends when they had been students at Hogwarts together, although their adult lives had sent them off in different directions. 

Almost immediately after Teddy had finished up at university, Professor Flitwick had finally agreed to retire. Teddy had been the lucky soul to take his place at Hogwarts.

At around the same time, James, at nineteen, had been signed to the senior squad of the Montrose Magpies. Whatever time that hadn’t been busy with practice, games, or training was all spent on dealing with and capitalising on the attendant fame. 

They hadn't talked in a while, but that wasn’t what made it strange. 

The _truly_ awkward part about coming to work at Hogwarts with Teddy was the fact that James had harboured a huge, gut-wrenchingly embarrassing crush on him since age fifteen. This crush was easy enough to ignore or to think totally gone when the two of them were off at different ends of the British Isles, living their lives and seeing each other only at family functions or the rare trip James took up to Hogwarts to see his dad. 

By the time he was twenty-three and at the height of his Quidditch fame, James would’ve been more or less sure it was dead. If he had been thinking of it at all. 

Cue two years later. After the absolute destruction of his Quidditch career, and his accepting of the Flying Instructor position at Hogwarts, James had (belatedly) realised this meant seeing Teddy every single day. For every. Single. Meal.

Not a problem, right? 

Sure. Just maybe for someone luckier than James.

Unfortunately, it only took three days of sitting next to Teddy at the high table in the Great Hall, up close and personal to his laugh again, sharing quiet jokes, going back to their rooms for drinks or catching up, for James to realise that not only was his teenage crush _not_ dead, but decidedly still alive and kicking. And that he had signed on for at least a year of this.

There had only been one thought in his mind at the time. 

_Fuck._

* * *

Just two years ago, James Potter had been a rising star in international Quidditch. 

At nineteen, he had been the youngest wizard ever signed to a starting spot on an English senior Quidditch squad. By twenty-three he had already helped the Montrose Magpies capture the League title twice, secured an invitation to the European championship every year he had been on the team, and scored thirty-three of the fifty-four goals that eventually won them the Cup—the first time an English team had won the title in more than half a century.

Rumours had circulated wildly that he was being looked at for a starting spot on the English national team for the upcoming Quidditch World Cup. _Quidditch Quarterly_ had described him as a 'force to be reckoned with, both with his skill on the pitch and his charm off it'. After years and years of hard work, any talk about how he had gotten his spot by virtue of his father’s fame or mother’s Quidditch connections had finally been put to rest.

Even his personal life had benefited from his new fame. His pull rate had never been better—even if one discounted the people attracted to him by the fame. Never had he been more confident or his charisma better, and he found himself with no shortage of willing partners. Everything had been on the rise—his game, his love life, his fame (and the size of his head, according to Lily). Nothing seemed able to touch him. 

In the end, it had just taken a moment. 

A regular derby match against a lower-level team, a Bludger hit by the Falmouth Falcons’ Beater, and a split-second miscalculation. Three things for James' entire life to fall apart.

One moment he was above the pitch, signaling to Delaney he was open in front of the left ring. The next, he was waking up in St Mungo's, two whole weeks having passed.

He did remember the fall—or parts of it, at least. The blue sky (a rare enough occurrence in York, where they were playing, that it had struck him as odd). Hollering across the pitch for Delaney, his arm raised, as his teammate swerved toward him, Quaffle held under his arm. He hadn’t heard the sound of the Beater’s bat against the Bludger.

What he remembered more than anything was the sharp _crack_ of the Bludger against his head and the way pain had snapped down his spine, like a flash of lightning in storm-choked skies. Pain, worse than he had ever felt, had lanced through him. Scared him. 

_What?_ he had thought. 

But even that thought had been cut short by what happened after.

Because perhaps most terrifying of the whole experience was when his hands had gone limp around the handle of his Stratos 7 and his thighs had loosened their hold from his seat on the broom. He had pitched sideways, suddenly, in a way that was entirely unnatural. If he could’ve moved at all, he would have stopped it. Instead, without protest, his broom had slipped out from under him—and no longer in control of his body, he had fallen straight toward the ground, not even able to put his hands out to break his fall.

In the time it took to say—or even think—the words _Tardus Descendit,_ he had plummeted thirty metres from his broom, limp as a ragdoll, to slam into the packed dirt of the pitch.

He didn't remember the actual impact, or the two weeks after that. That was good.

Less good, perhaps, was everything else.

Though mediwizards had been able to repair the broken bones and punctured lung, the creeping impact of crush syndrome from the original trauma and the serious concussion, it turned out that the sharp twist to his spine that had precipitated his temporary, mid-air paralysis was the hardest to remedy. 

Months later, after all the best potions and charms that the magical world could come up with, and endless sessions with Muggle physical therapists (because wizards didn’t know everything, Aunt Hermione had insisted), James still woke with shooting pains down his limbs that hardly faded under the best painkiller potions. His left hand, which had gotten crushed under him during the fall, hadn't ever fully regained its original mobility.

The nervous system was a tricky beast, Healer Kawashima had told him. The brain, most of all. Sometimes, despite their best efforts, it would never heal fully. He might never get back the mobility or vision he had lost on that side—both crucial skills for a Chaser.

So, though he'd no doubt do well in a local pub team, James' brilliant professional Quidditch career was over, just like that. Crash, bang. 

Done. 

* * *

The two years after the sudden and unexpected death of his Quidditch career were… best forgotten, in James’ mind. Having one's purpose that one had nurtured for so long and succeeded so brilliantly at suddenly destroyed, had been harder to handle than he thought. By the time he looked up and realised it really _had_ been two whole years, he was struck by the fact that he hardly remembered a thing that had happened in them. Like the memory of the impact into the pitch, the time seemed mostly wiped from his mind.

( _Seemed_ and _mostly_ did more heavy lifting in that sentence than he was prepared to think of at the moment.)

Still, it was kinder, that. To forget. Perhaps.

His mother had been the one to tell him about Madame Hooch’s retirement, and to suggest he try applying for the newly-open position of Flying Instructor at Hogwarts. Though he understood where his mother was coming from—getting on with his life, stop shutting himself away, y'know—it also seemed like the worst possible idea.

Unfortunately James was, as Al might say, hardly averse to bad ideas. 

One particularly restless night, unable to sleep yet again, he had written a letter to Professor Tinctilis, now the headmaster of Hogwarts, about the position. In truth, he hadn’t had any hope or serious plans in mind. 

As he had written about his flying skills and long experience, he had pushed back the thought of the last time he had flown to the back of his mind. Talking about how he enjoyed teaching his younger siblings to fly and how he had trained some of the reserve team on the Magpies, he ignored the memory of how his hands had shaken so hard he could hardly keep a grip on the broom handle last he had held it. Rolling up the letter and attaching it to the leg of his sleepy barn owl Harris, he had shoved back the memory of how even the smooth acceleration of the broom rising into the sky had made his gaze swim with vertigo so badly he had to take long breaths with his eyes screwed shut before he could finally fly.

What did any of that matter? He could still teach students the basics of flying. It might not even include him getting on a damn broom. 

What was the worst that could come of it?

That had been the insomnia talking, clearly.

The insomnia was probably also to blame for how he had conveniently forgotten about Teddy working at Hogwarts. How he had gotten himself dragged into this whole mess.

And that was how, three months later, James found himself walking up the sharp slope toward the castle from the Hogsmeade entrance, experiencing perhaps the strangest sense of déjà vu.

The grass hadn't yet been cut by the groundskeeper, and the late-summer sun spread heavy, golden light across the field, limning the crenellated edges of the castle with light. Even though it was nearly 8PM, everything was so brightly lit it looked like midday. Living in the south for years, he had forgotten about the impossibly long days of Scottish summer.

As a student, the last days around exams had seemed to stretch on endlessly, like they would never end. By that point, it had usually been warm enough to go swimming in the lake and the breeze that whistled through the Forbidden Forest had always tasted slightly sweet, like a dream. He and his friends would spend those days at the lakeshore, challenging each other to ridiculous dares—"Go put this cat figurine on Professor McGonagall's desk without getting caught" "Charm the suit of armor outside of Ravenclaw's common room to challenge each student to a duel, but give him a baguette as a sword"—and ignoring the waning days they still had free before real life started.

The last time he had been at the castle in the summer was nearly five years ago, when his whole family had come to drop Teddy off. It had started off as just James’ parents and the immediate family—Lily protesting heavily, because she was studying for her mediwitch exams and couldn't spare the time, before his mum had insisted she could take at least the afternoon off—and expanded, at the end of it, to include Uncle Ron and George, Aunt Audrey and Angelina. Of course, where aunts and uncles appeared, so did endless amounts of cousins: Rose and Hugo, Fred and Roxanne, Molly and Lucy and Dominique.

They hadn't needed nearly that many people, that much was obvious. In the end, there had only been one trunk and two travelling bags, both of which Teddy himself had levitated up the walk to the castle. As the adults had broken off to reconnect with their old teachers, the cousins had all dispersed to explore the empty castle and grounds.

James and Teddy had, of course, gone off together. All Teddy had to do was catch James' eye and tilt his head, and they had slipped away. Besides Teddy himself (and Victoire, who was in Romania with Uncle Charlie for her first year of dragon taming training) James was the oldest cousin and as such, had certain rights not to be _annoyed_ _by_ the younger cousins.

In truth, they hadn't been that close before Teddy went off to school. While James' dad had always invited Teddy 'round for weeklong visits, and of course he and his grandmother stayed with the family for Christmas holidays, Teddy had been quiet and aloof in a way that none of James or his siblings (or cousins) understood. Despite all the time they had spent together as kids, they hardly knew Teddy at all. He spent most of his time off in some corner of the Burrow reading textbooks about spellcasting or making notes on historical facts. 

Al had said his isolation was probably because of his dead parents, which had made Lily elbow him hard in the side and tell him to "Stop being a dick, Al. Or actually get your degree in psychology before you start therapy-ing people."

The only time they got him to stick around was when they needed a mediator for intra-Weasley Quidditch matches, which could get brutal without an official at the sidelines.

When James finally went off to Hogwarts for the first time, he was surprised when Teddy went out of his way to take him under his wing. Teddy was already a fourth year by that point, so why bother spending time with a lowly first year? Perhaps it was because they had both been sorted into Hufflepuff—something that had bothered James' father more than he perhaps cared to admit—but as the rare non-Gryffindors of the family, they became good friends. 

At school, Teddy was still quiet and aloof in some ways, but he was also wickedly smart and funny in a sharp, pointed way. Facets of his personality that had once been completed obscured now became clear.

It was also became clear as he got older that Teddy was more popular than he probably thought, if just because of how handsome he was.

It shouldn't have taken that long for James to realise he had a massive crush on Teddy, but of course the revelation waited until Teddy had graduated from Hogwarts and returned from his gap year in Australia. 

A fifteen-year-old James, not yet come to terms with the fact that he might be gay, abruptly face-to-face with a grinning, artfully-disheveled Teddy after a year of not seeing him, being dragged into a hug and feeling the strength in those hands, the ease that had settled over Teddy's shoulders in their time apart, had been a prime candidate for developing the _worst crush of all time_.

So, of course, James had found himself, age fifteen, mooning over the most impossible of crushes, wondering where he had left his goddamn mind that he had fallen this hard. 

He was the Potter child that was closest to Teddy, so of course they spent the two weeks Teddy was staying at their house going on long walks through the woods near Godric's Hollow together, playing one-on-one Quidditch which more often than not ended with them fighting over a Quaffle and tumbling to the ground, getting secretly sloshed on the roof one particularly clear summer night, and doing all they could to escape James' siblings.

Teddy always stayed in James' room, too, which was a particularly cruel touch.

Because of course he couldn't confess. What the fuck would he have said?

_Hey, Teds, you know me, James, uh, yes, you've known me forever, but how do you feel about the fact that I have a ridiculous, giant-sized crush on you? Want to make out?_

No. Absolutely not. James would rather throw himself from the Astronomy tower.

Instead, he elected to keep the whole thing a huge secret. It had been the perfect choice. No one knew, and no one would ever know. Their physical distance most of the time made it that much easier to ignore, even if every time they met up for Sunday dinners Teddy had gravitated straight to James. It was fine.

Yes, he spent most of his time at Hogwarts throwing himself into his new role as Hufflepuff Quidditch captain, flying around the practice pitch and coming up with new plays. After he graduated and he got chosen for the Montrose Magpie's reserve team at age seventeen, it was _encouraged_ that he spend most of his time perfecting Parkin's Pincer manoeuvres, or reverse Quaffle passes with the other Chasers. No one questioned it. It was damn near what every other player did, actually. And the fact of how early he had gotten signed to the senior team (only nineteen!) had made it perfectly clear that this was all completely fine. 

He was over it.

And he was—completely fine, that is—up until that fateful afternoon everyone had gathered together to drop Teddy off at Hogwarts. As the rest of the family had trooped up toward the castle, Teddy had caught his eye and tilted his head, and James had followed. Nursing a crush for more than four years was, of course, ridiculous—but unfortunately, still entirely possible.

(No one had told James of the possibility of carrying it on for another five years). 

They had headed out around the edge of the castle grounds, bumping shoulders as they walked.

"So, how's the newest Chaser for the Magpies senior team?" Teddy had asked, a grin curving his cheek.

"Ready to crush your favorite Tornados," James had replied, raising his eyebrows in challenge. "We're set to play them weekend after next."

"Ooh, a true challenge, Jamie," Teddy had said with a quiet laugh. "But not saying much. Tornados haven't won since before I was born."

"True enough. Guess it's not much, then. And you?"

"Me?" Teddy had shrugged, turning away from James to squint into the distance. They made their way to the edge of the Quidditch stadium, where the buildings curved around the edge of the pitch near the Forbidden forest. "Not sure. Just getting ready to teach, I guess.”

"I think it’s brilliant, though," James had laughed. "Professor Lupin. Sounds impressive.”

“Not as impressive as being signed to the best Quidditch team in the league,” Teddy had replied, nudging James in the side. “That’s real big news. You going to forget all about us?”

James felt his face burn in slight embarrassment. He had heard the same from his siblings, and he had rolled his eyes and said, _Unfortunately, no_. 

To Teddy, though, he joked, “Yes, my big head is going to be full up with fame and I’m going to forget I ever knew you, Teds.” He put his chin in his hand, tilting to look at Teddy, pretending to think. “Who’re you again? My memory’s a bit fuzzy, now. Soon-to-be famous people don’t have time for remembering things like _names_.”

Teddy reached out and ruffled his hair, before pushing him away. “Absolutely insufferable.” 

“I’m insufferable? You're going to have to deal with troublemakers like we used to be, though."

"Ha! They wish. But maybe I'll just bribe them with autographs from their new favourite Montrose Magpie's Chaser, James Potter. Y’know, ‘Here, if you do well on exams, you'll get a signed headshot.’ Students will love that. I’ll have the best behaved lot in the whole school with bribes of that calibre."

James had stuck out his tongue at Teddy. "Who says I'm going to give you signed headshots, huh, Lupin? Those could be worth hundreds of Galleons someday. Can't just be giving them away to whoever."

Teddy had laughed so loud James had shoved at his shoulder. "Oi! Don't be rude."

To his only slight annoyance, Teddy had kept laughing. James wasn't even bothered, even though the laugh might've been directed at him. It wasn't fair that his crush hadn’t faded with time like he thought it would. He still liked Teddy so much, even now. Even when he was being a little shit.

Finally, Teddy had calmed down, wiping his face with one hand. He had grinned at James. "Got any headshots now? Just, uh, for my personal collection? Not for resale or bribery."

James sniffed in mock outrage. "Yeah, like I’ll believe _that_. You’re just going to use my handsome face for fame.”

“What if I’m just going to miss seeing your face, though?”

James’ heart felt like it skipped a beat. He opened his mouth to reply, but hesitated. _Could he—?_

Then Teddy had laughed. The split-second illusion had shattered. “Actually, I’m sure I’ll see you on the front pages of the _Prophet_ , or something. No need for headshots.”

“Oi! Talk about insufferable,” James grumbled. 

That afternoon made it perfectly clear that he was not, in fact, over it.

To be annoying, James had sent the headshots anyway. He had no idea if Teddy had really given them away to his students or kept them all for his personal collection, and it was best that he didn’t think of it, to be honest. 

He certainly didn’t think about it when he arrived at Hogwarts, ready to join the teaching staff. And if he did, it was just to think of ripostes to students brandishing signed pictures of his face in his, well, _face_. Nothing to do with Teddy. 

Because it was fine, he assured himself. Completely fine. Just like he had survived all of those Sunday dinners and holidays spent bunking with Teddy in the height of his feverish crush, sharing a room with Teddy when the whole Weasley clan descended on the Burrow or his parents’ house in Godric’s Hollow, he could survive this. Get out the other side with his dignity intact.

(Never should promise include such a provision when kids were involved. Dignity didn’t last long amongst pre-teens.)

For the first couple of weeks he was actually doing quite well, if he had to say so himself. No embarrassing confessions or totally obvious moon-eyes. While he overheard whispers of his students talking about how the new Transfiguration teacher, Professor Fennery, and the Herbology teacher, Professor Ascanthia, had been caught going for a walk down to Hogsmeade one weekend and how it meant their impending marriage, he hadn’t caught a whiff of a rumour about him and Teddy. 

It was all under control. For the most part. Yeah, his heart still tended to beat triple-time in his chest every time Teddy smiled at him after laughing at one of his jokes, and he tended to overanalyse how many times their hands brushed when they walked down the halls together, or what it meant that Teddy had given him a long hug after they spent the evening together in Teddy’s rooms, playing chess and talking over glasses of Firewhisky. 

One Friday afternoon in October, he had hefted the pile of Cleansweep 10s (Hogwarts really needed to get some new brooms) over his shoulder and headed for the broom shed after his last lesson for the day. He had awkwardly wrangled open the door and was trying to grab his wand without dumping all the brooms on the ground—not that it would matter much if he did, they were so old—when a voice he recognised spoke behind him.

" _Levitatum_ ," the voice said.

James felt the brooms lifting from his hands and flying to their holders on the wall. Each one fit neatly onto their hook, as one might expect when the organising charm was cast by the Charms professor himself.

James turned with a wry look. "Hey, Lupin."

Teddy, with his sandy brown hair half-pulled back, emphasising a sharp jaw and flashing brown eyes behind thick-framed glasses, grinned back at him. “Hey, James. And if you're going to call me by my last name, that's _Professor_ Lupin to you."

James rolled his eyes, affecting half-joking annoyance. It wasn't to hide how his heartbeat surged in his chest at that grin. No way.

"Alright, _Professor_ Lupin. To be fair, then, it's Professor Potter to you, too," James shot back.

Teddy made a disgruntled sound. "No, that's your dad. I'd rather go with your _Master_ Potter, if we've got to.” He paused. “Or, if you like, we can stick with Teddy and James."

"Teddy and James is better," James agreed. The idea of Teddy calling him _Master_ Potter seemed impossibly strange. Master of _what_?

"So how's it been, being a teacher?"

"As advertised."

Teddy laughed. "Really? Didn't know Tinctilis advertised."

"Can you imagine?” James smirked, trying to figure the advertisement in his head as it might’ve appeared in _The Daily Prophet_. “'Flying Instructor needed. Must be able to stop eleven-year-olds on brooms from floating over the Forbidden Forest and being eaten by Nargles. Must love trying to teach basic skills on the oldest, least-controllable brooms in existence.'"

"Yeah, don't think they've bought new broom since we went to school."

"I don't doubt it. Bet they're just as terrible as the ones as my dad kept in his broom shed for us to absolutely wreck in family matches."

"Ha! It's a wonder you became a Quidditch star at all with the poor equipment.” Teddy shook his head. “Maybe not, though. Maybe it's the challenge that set you up for it."

"Coach Greene would _love_ the idea that his five thousand lap obstacle course regimen did nothing to improve my flying, and it was all up to riding them Cleansweep 10s in my youth. I think he’d actually come up to Scotland to kill me himself for daring to suggest such a thing."

Teddy had shrugged, stepping up closer. “You know what, though? I’d honestly pay extra to see a Quidditch World Cup flown on old brooms. Can you imagine? Germany absolutely balls-up on Nimbus Strikes? France still on the ground because their Astro 5s wouldn’t get off the ground? Hilarious. The pundits would cry.”

“I’d love to see it. Nelson Whipple trying to pull a Wronski Feint on a Stratos 500?” A sudden thought struck James and he turned to dig through the shed. It was nothing to do with how close Teddy seemed to be standing. Not at all. “You know what…”

When James turned back around, Teddy gave a disdainful look at the old broom James held up. His nose scrunched up. "Thanks. I'll pass."

James' eyebrows rose in challenge. A grin he couldn’t help curled his cheek. "Oh? Scared, Teds?"

Teddy shot him a wry look. "I've heard better taunts from some my fourth years. You've got to try harder than that, _Jamie_."

James shook his head as he took a step forward. He met Teddy's eyes, ignoring the way his pulse felt like it was beating rapid-time in his throat. "Hm. Childhood nickname. Really going below the belt there. Got any other absolutely sharp words of wisdom from your students?"

Teddy had narrowed his eyes at the veiled taunt like James knew he would. He reached out for the broom James offered. As he grabbed it and pulled it close, James hadn’t let go. 

Instead, he jerked forward unexpectedly, until they were nearly touching. 

“Alright,” Teddy had said, his voice quiet. “Let’s see how it is to go toe-to-toe with _Quidditch Quarterly_ 's 'Best Chaser,’ shall we?”

* * *

When James had thought back on proposing a late afternoon Quidditch match between him and his crush, he felt like he had absolutely lost his mind at the time. A game? Between him and Teddy? Wasn't that just... asking for trouble?

Maybe.

But just like bad ideas, Al would say James wasn’t exactly averse to trouble, either.

* * *

They had kicked off the cold ground of the Quidditch pitch with one Quaffle amongst them, cradled under Teddy’s arm. With just two people, there was no need for Bludgers or a Snitch. 

“Alright, Potter. You on your best game, here?” Teddy hollered toward him. 

“Get on with it!” James had yelled back, ignoring the way his hands still trembled slightly around the handle of the broom. They were about twenty metres above the pitch, at the level of the goalposts, and he wasn’t about to give in. 

“Weasley family rules?” Teddy asked. “First to a hundred points?”

"Yep!" James' mind was already running through old manoeuvres and plays on how to get the Quaffle away from Teddy, trying to figure the best one to start with. Like most plays in Quidditch, however, they involved getting up close and personal with another player. That wasn't a problem when the opponent was Graham Heckler from Puddlemere United, but when it was Teddy? A whole host of new problems cropped up.

He was still thinking when Teddy called out, "Let's go!" and shot forward.

James yanked his broom around and shot after Teddy. The Cleansweep 10 accelerated so slowly he thought at first that it was broken, before he realised that no, that was just how the broom flew. Muttering to himself, he flattened his body against the handle and kicked it as fast as it would go (still not very fast).

The pitch flashed by under him in a haze of green, but the good thing about playing with someone you couldn't exactly take your eyes off? A good distraction from worrying about how far you both were from the ground.

He caught up to Teddy right outside the scoring area. Ducking underneath him, James shot a hand out and punched the Quaffle right out from under Teddy's arm. Teddy tried to jerk away, but it was too late.

The scarlet ball flew from his grip and started to descend. James caught it and pulled himself around, ignoring the way his stomach swooped as the Cleansweep swung in a huge circle, trying to regain its balance. He shot down to the opposite end of the pitch, aware that Teddy was close at his heels and ready to dive in at an opportune moment. Nearly to other scoring area, he swerved abruptly right, avoiding Teddy's hands, and chucked the Quaffle through the hoop.

"Ten!" he yelled, inordinately pleased. So, he hadn't lost all his skills. He grinned at Teddy, who had swerved around the back of the hoops to grab the Quaffle.

Teddy gave him a half-smile as he caught the ball and flew toward James. "Lucky shot."

"Nothing lucky about it," James replied.

Teddy didn't give him much time to gloat, however, as he took off again. This time, James gave him an extra moment, though it turned out that Teddy didn't even need it.

When James caught up to him, Teddy anticipated James' grab for the ball and rolled in the opposite direction, looped under him and threw the ball through the center hoop right in front of James. Perfectly on point.

As James flew to retrieve the ball, he caught Teddy's smile.

"Ten," Teddy called out to him.

"Lucky shot!"

Teddy's laugh rang around the Quidditch pitch. "I thought luck had nothing to do with it?"

James couldn't help his own laugh. It had been ages since he had flown like this, and though there was still a thin thread of fear at the back of his mind, it was far less stressful than he imagined.

Seven and eight shots later (for Teddy and James, respectively) and James was having a decidedly good time. This had nothing to do with the way he and Teddy had been grappling for the ball, each trying to gain the advantage, and in the process getting so close James could often feel Teddy's breath across his cheek, or the warmth of his body up against James. Or the taunts and jokes they shared across the pitch, which made James laugh harder than he had in ages, until his stomach hurt. Nothing at all.

It also had _nothing_ to do with how Teddy played—careful, almost, of shoving into James too hard or doing anything that might knock him from his broom. It wasn't that obvious, partly because Teddy still played as dirty as he had at Weasley home matches, but there was none of the elbowing or footrest flipping as before (the latter coined by Lily, where she would slip a boot under the footrests of the broom and upend the rider if they didn't hold on quite tight enough. The move itself was absolutely illegal in regulation play, but at family games, anything tended to go). He didn’t treat James as if he were glass, but there was a care there that James recognised, even if he didn’t know quite what to do with it. 

He didn't know quite why he did it. Perhaps he was getting a mite too cocky, or just overestimated how well he was handling flying again. Or maybe it was the brooms. The old Cleansweep 10s _were_ just as terrible as advertised. 

Whatever it was found James streaking down the pitch for the last goal of the night, with the Quaffle held against his chest, Teddy right at his side.

They hadn't said what the other would win at the end of the match, but James was thinking he could use it as an excuse to take Teddy to the Three Broomsticks for a meal one night—'Winner buys dinner', right? That probably wasn’t actually a real rule, but he was going to make it one, after this. 

The way things had been going between them recently, he might even propose it as a date.

Teddy reached out a hand to knock the Quaffle out of his grip and James dove down to evade, toward the grass. Although the sun was barely setting, it was already getting quite cool and his hands felt slippery around the smooth surface of the ball.

"Gotta try harder than that, Teds!" he yelled over his shoulder, seeing Teddy at his tail.

Teddy narrowed his eyes, flattening himself to his broom handle. He gained a few inches on James.

James laughed and turned to look at the approaching goalposts. This was a standard Magpies move he hadn't done in a while, but it came back to him easily enough. As the ground sloped up the scoring mound, he pulled the handle of his broom up. Every other time he had done it, the broom had smoothly turned vertical to follow the line of the goalposts. He would fly straight up and more or less drop the Quaffle through the hoop.

Instead, his hand slipped on the handle and he looked set to slam right into the goalpost instead. In his rush to adjust, he overcorrected and yanked the handle further back. Rather than vertical, the world turned abruptly upside-down.

In a moment of terror, the bottom dropped out of James' stomach.

_No._

Vertigo made the world swim around him, until it was impossible to tell which way was up and which was down, except whatever it was, it was _wrong_. The Quaffle fell from his grip. Even with both hands on the handle of the broom, he struggled to adjust.

The broom was still moving, taking him in a jagged arc over the grass.

James heard his name being called but he hardly registered it. It felt like it took forever—even though it was probably five seconds or less—before he hooked his knee over the handle and flipped the broom beneath him again. Those five seconds felt like eternity to his racing heart. Even astride the broom again, he felt shaky and uneven.

A second later, and Teddy was up beside him.

"Fucking hell, James, what was that?" he asked, his voice low and uneven. He sounded just as freaked out as James felt. With one hand, he reached out to steady James' broom until they both came to a slow, even stop. "You scared the—James, you alright? James?"

James looked over at him. His throat felt incredibly thick with something, like he had swallowed the Snitch. All he could make was a vague sound of assent, which Teddy very reasonably didn't trust.

Teddy directed them into a slow descent. Thankfully, they actually weren't that far off the ground, maybe five metres or less. Even when on solid ground, it took an extra breath for James to release the handle of his Cleansweep 10, now _officially_ the worst broomstick in existence.

He was definitely going to buy new broomsticks for the school. Immediately. Although most students on the Quidditch teams already had their own brooms, he wouldn't be able to officiate a game (which yes, turned out to be one of his duties) knowing students were trying to fly those things. It was a miracle the casualty rate for Hogwarts Quidditch games was as low as it was.

"-mes. _James_. Can you hear me? Are you alright?"

James looked up and realised Teddy was standing in front of him, hands gripping his shoulders. The expression on his friend's face was a bit more intense than he thought was warranted, but he couldn't deny it made his heartbeat tick up. Or maybe that was just the adrenaline.

He grinned weakly. "Can confirm a Quidditch World Cup on those things would be an absolute disaster."

Teddy stared at him for a split second longer, his expression fading into something close to disbelief, before he yanked James into a crushing hug. His arms were quite strong for what James might've imagined for a Charms professor, but no complaints there. He was also very warm, which was nice—although, again, that might've been due to the adrenaline rapidly draining away from James' system.

"What the fuck, James?" Teddy murmured, sliding one hand up to cup the back of James' neck.

Heat slide down James' spine at the grip. This was nice, actually. "What?"

"I always loved watching you play but that was..." Teddy pulled slowly back, until his gaze could trace over James' face.

"Impressive?" James prompted hopefully.

"Scary," Teddy corrected. "I get you did it professionally, so maybe I'm just. I don't know. But that was..." He shook his head, clearly not going to finish the thought. "Are you sure you're alright?"

James felt quite alright, if he was honest. On solid ground again, with Teddy's arms around him and one hand on the back of his neck, he felt safer than he had in a while. And now that he thought about it, the move hadn't been that bad. A bit—aright, a _lot_ —wonkier than it could've been, but he could see where he had run into a problem and how to correct it.

"Feel great, actually."

"Really?" There was a hint of disbelief in Teddy's tone.

" _Really._ "

"Why?"

Maybe James was still just the tiniest bit loopy off the adrenaline, because that was the only thing that could explain the word that rolled off his tongue. "You."

Teddy's brows furrowed. "Me?"

James felt heat creep up his face and he knew the blush was obvious, even in the evening light. Sirens were blaring in his head, saying _shut up shutupshutup!_ "Er. No reason. I mean, nevermind."

"James," Teddy repeated seriously. "What d'you mean? What do I have to do with it?"

James was suddenly very aware of the fact that they were standing nearly chest-to-chest and his fingers were twisted tightly in Teddy's robes. Every single excuse or explanation he had made in his life had suddenly abandoned him, right when he needed them most. What had happened to James Potter, able to get away with half the pranks he had because he had been a fast-thinker (and sometimes an even faster talker)? Where was fifteen-year-old James, better able to keep his composure in front of Teddy than twenty-four-year-old James?

"Er," James began, trying to think. "Well."

_Great start._

Teddy continued to look at him, not saying a word.

"You... I like... that you caught me." James felt his face burn brighter. That was true, right?

"I didn't catch you, though," Teddy said slowly. "You caught yourself."

"Yes, alright! It's really..." It was really very difficult to think with Teddy so close, the warmth of his skin under his light robes, the slight hitch in his breath as James had stood there, hesitating. Tension seemed to coil up between them.

A moment passed, stretched long between them. James couldn't quite make the words come out.

"James..." Teddy sighed, clearly disappointed, and started to pull away.

It was the pulling away that did it, the way that the warmth seemed to fade. "Okay, wait Teddy, I... okay. D'you really want to know?"

Teddy stopped pulling away, his hands settling on James' shoulders once more. "Yeah, I want to know."

_Just say it._

James took a deep breath, and then said it: "I've... liked you for a long time. Not just as friends, but more. More than that. So, that's why I feel, er, safe. Or great, I mean. Fine."

"Oh," Teddy breathed out, looking over James' shoulder. His expression was, again, too complicated to read.

"Yeah." James took heart in the fact that he didn't move away. He didn't know what to make of the quiet that followed, though. After a few long, excruciatingly silent moments, he continued, "You don't have to worry about it. I promise I'll—"

Teddy's brows furrowed together as he finally looked back at James. He sounded confused. "Why would I worry about it?"

"I dunno. I won't bother you about it, you know? Let's just forget about it." James tried to pull away but Teddy refused to loosen his hold. "Forget I told you."

"Hold on just a second, alright? I just need to... think for a second." Teddy said, fingers tightening around James' shoulders until he settled down. "Does this mean you want to date me?"

"Yes?"

"And you've wanted to do it for a while?"

"Yes."

"So, you want to kiss me?"

"Merlin's pants! Teds, do you know what dating is?" James felt the very tips of his ears turn red. "Yes. To all of that."

"Oh. Okay."

"What?"

Teddy gave him a lopsided grin. "I said, 'okay.'"

"Okay to what?" James asked slowly.

"To 'all of that', like you said."

"T-to dating?" James repeated, just to be sure, even as he was holding Teddy's robes in one hand, and pulling him close.

"Do you know what dating is?" Teddy cheekily repeated back to him. His light brown eyes caught the dying summer light, gold glimmering across his cheekbone as he allowed himself to be pulled closer. "Yes to that. With you."

"Oh, okay," James repeated. Hardly a speech to be proud of, but the result was what mattered and the result was... amazing: Teddy grinning back at him, hands sliding up James' shoulders. Awareness rose up all over his body, like an electrical wire under his skin.

And a moment later, James leaned in and kissed Teddy, and Teddy kissed him back.

* * *

It became quite clear that coming back to work at Hogwarts was _not_ nearly as difficult as James had imagined. In fact, coming back to work at Hogwarts was probably the best decision he had made in a while.

(However, James did eventually realise that the most awkward thing about working with your boyfriend was when you both _also_ worked with your dad. Staff meetings would never be the same again.)

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of HP Next Gen Fest 2020. The creator will be revealed at the end of November.


End file.
